


Five First Kisses That Never Happened (and the one that did)

by Mireille



Category: Sports Night
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-01
Updated: 2007-01-01
Packaged: 2019-03-19 03:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13696041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Dan and Casey's first kiss could have gone like this. Five alternate universes, some far more alternate than others.





	Five First Kisses That Never Happened (and the one that did)

**one**  
  
The first thing Dan thought as he was backed up against a rack of videotapes was that he'd  _thought_  the only ways his internship at the TV station and his last girlfriend's at the law firm were alike were the filing, the Xeroxing, and the making of coffee. Apparently, the "being cornered in a file room by one of the guys you're working for" part was more universal than he'd anticipated.   
  
Well, except Amy had described the guy who'd grabbed her ass as a slimy middle-aged creep, and Mr. McCall, who'd just told Dan to call him Casey, wasn't any of those things. He was only a little older than Dan himself; this was his first real job, he'd said. And Casey was a nice guy, or so Dan had thought. He definitely hadn't seemed slimy or creepy.   
  
Until, that was, the part where he'd followed Dan into the tape archive and kissed him, which seemed both stupid (they were at work) and kind of creepy (considering that, when the station manager had taken Dan around and introduced him to people, he'd seen  _wedding pictures_  on Casey's desk). But it wasn't like Dan was a complete stranger to this kind of thing--although usually it took at least a six-pack to get him to consider making out with a guy--and if he didn't think too hard about the stupid-and-creepy aspects of things, he had to admit that Casey McCall would have to be on the list of the top five kissers Dan had known.  
  
Dan wasn't great at going with the flow--he wanted to be, he pretended to be, sometimes he even managed to convince himself of it, but not worrying about things had stopped being one of his talents a couple of years ago (and he pretended he didn't know precisely how many days it had been). Even if Casey was rapidly working his way up Dan's personal rankings (he was in the top three now), it was only a few seconds before he put a hand on Casey's chest, pushing him away and saying, "Uh, Mr. McCall? Casey? This is probably a bad idea."  
  
He was lying, because there was a good-sized part of his brain that thought that stopping Casey was the worst idea he'd had in at least a week. That was only if you ignored the big picture, though, and Dan just couldn't make himself do that.  
  
It was too late now, anyway, because Casey had flushed bright red and started apologizing profusely and swearing it would never happen again, and Casey hoped Dan wouldn't be blowing this out of proportion. There was a note of panic not very well hidden in his voice, and Dan realized that if he wanted to, he could completely ruin both Casey McCall's career in sports journalism  _and_  his marriage, all with one meeting with the station manager.   
  
He didn't want to. There was no reason why they couldn't just let all of this go--ignore the whole thing and just get back to work--and he said as much to Casey.   
  
And that, he thought, would be the end of it. He finished his shift, he went home, he worked on his history paper and played poker with the guys from down the hall and went to bed, and when he woke up the next morning, it felt like everything had gone back to normal.   
  
Until he got to the station and found out that Mr. McCall had requested that Dan be reassigned to another department. He would be spending the rest of the semester doing research for the consumer-affairs reporter, which the station manager swore was not a punishment or a demotion, but certainly felt like it. Especially when he discovered that his new supervisor had framed photos of a dog wearing a sweater and little knitted booties on her desk.   
  
So much for his glorious career in sports journalism.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
 **two**  
  
People kept asking Dan whether he had a problem working with Casey. He'd just shrug and say that Casey was smart, talented, and a damned good sports anchor; why would he have a problem working with someone like that? Usually, that'd stop them; most people were a little too embarrassed to just come right out and say that the reason that Dan might have a problem with the other anchor of  _Lone Star Sports_  was that in addition to being intelligent and talented, Casey McCall was also a very attractive woman.   
  
If they did come out and say it, Dan would grin and say no, he definitely did not have a problem with Casey being a babe. It scored him points with the good ol' boys, and Casey just rolled her eyes at him when she heard it. Most of the time, though, he really didn't think about it. Casey was his co-anchor, and she was his best friend, and it wasn't like  _Lone Star_  was short on attractive women. Mindy in Wardrobe, for example, had been second-runner-up in the Miss Texas pageant a couple of years ago, so if Dan wanted to think unprofessional thoughts about someone he worked with, there were options who weren't his best friend--really, considering he'd been abruptly transplanted to Dallas, one of his  _only_  friends.   
  
His  _married_  best friend, at that. Dan didn't especially like Luke--whose last name he had a tendency to "forget," since calling him "Luke McCall" (Casey had kept her maiden name for professional reasons) pissed him off--but obviously, Casey did, so Dan learned to shut up about him. It wasn't like Dan really wanted to sit around discussing Casey's marriage anyway. They talked about work and the Cowboys and the Final Four, and not about what Casey was going to do when she and Luke decided to have kids, or about the rumor that occasionally popped up that Casey had only married Luke to hide that she was a lesbian. Dan figured he'd have known if she was. But she was in sports, and damned good at it, and she'd played field hockey and lacrosse in college, and people were stupid.  
  
And when Dan came back to the station late one night--if he couldn't sleep, he might as well work--to find Casey at her desk with her head buried in her hands, the phone still off the hook and her face streaked with tears, Dan didn't ask her what had happened. He knew what had happened, at least in general. Casey didn't just break down in public; she wasn't like that. It had to be bad, and considering some of the phone conversations he hadn't been able to help overhearing lately, it was almost definitely Luke.   
  
But Dan didn't ask what happened; he just got her a diet Sprite from the vending machine (he'd tried for Coke, but that was what came out) and handed her a box of Kleenex, and started doing everything he could to make her laugh.   
  
It took an hour to coax a watery smile out of her, but it made Dan feel like he'd just won an Emmy. "It's gonna be okay," he promised her.   
  
"I know."  
  
"You and Luke will work things out, and--"  
  
"That's not going to happen, Danny."  
  
"Hey, have a little faith," he began, but she shook her head.   
  
"I don't think I want it to happen," she said.   
  
Dan opened his mouth to tell Casey that she probably didn't want to decide anything about her marriage while she was this upset. They could go out, have a beer or two, and then he'd take her to a decent motel if she didn't want to go home. Once she'd had a good night's sleep, she'd feel differently about Luke.   
  
The words never got out, though, because in the moment before he spoke, he looked down at Casey and realized that there was another reason he'd never had a problem with his co-anchor being a beautiful, intelligent, sexy woman. "Don't go back to him," he said, and then wished he hadn't. He could lose his best friend that way, and he needed her. He wasn't sure he could get through the day without her, and that was so much more important than any of what he was asking for now.   
  
"I don't want to," she said again, and then she kissed him.   
  
As first kisses went, it honestly wasn't all that much, just a quick brush of her lips against his.   
  
It was a lot more than that. Casey was his best friend, and he needed her, and he loved her--and there was no reason to add, "but not in that way," any more, because it was in every way he could think of, and it always had been.   
  
"I need to talk to Luke," Casey said as she pulled away.   
  
"Then you should go do that. I can wait here," he suggested.   
  
"Go home, Danny," she said, smiling a little. "We'll talk tomorrow."  
  
Dan walked her out to her car, trying not to smile. It was wrong to feel this happy when Casey was still going to have to deal with the end of her marriage.   
  
But hell, he thought, at least it'd give people something new to ask him.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
 **three**  
  
The first thing Dan noticed when he woke up was that there was someone else in bed with him.   
  
The second thing he noticed was that he, himself, was not actually in bed; he was lying on top of the bedspread--he was in a hotel room, he realized; no one ever  _bought_  a bedspread like that--still mostly dressed. He even had one shoe on.   
  
His mouth tasted like he'd been licking the floor in a bus station, which made him ask the critical question,  _What the hell did I drink last night_? For the moment, that was a blur, but he was fairly sure that it would all come back to him once he'd found a toothbrush, some Advil, and a cup of coffee, in that order. He'd only been awake for about five seconds, after all.   
  
Hotel room. Start with that. His hotel room? He thought so; there was his suitcase in the corner, and he was in--Minneapolis, he remembered suddenly, or maybe Saint Paul. And then the answer to his last question struck him, followed by one he hadn't even thought to ask yet:  _Jägermeister. Casey_.  
  
And then, as he remembered the rest:  _Oh, wow. Casey._    
  
Dan risked a glance over at the other side of the bed, where, sure enough, Casey was sprawled, snoring a little and probably drooling on the pillow. He'd taken off his tie and both his shoes, but other than that, he was just as fully-dressed as Dan was. At least there'd be no uncomfortable questions about whether or not something had happened that they didn't remember.   
  
The stuff Dan  _did_  remember, now that he was fully awake, was bad enough.   
  
Or maybe he meant "good enough"; he remembered the sound of elevator doors sliding closed, and Casey stumbling drunkenly into him--or so Dan had thought at the time, until Casey had kissed him.   
  
Dan had been drunk enough himself that he hadn't been at all troubled by that; he'd just wrapped his arms around Casey and kissed back, wet and hot and messy and  _right_ , and the elevator that had seemed frustratingly slow on the way down now seemed to only take a split second to travel the fifteen floors from the lobby to their floor.   
  
They'd pulled apart as the doors opened, and neither of them said anything, just started down the hallway, as close to one another as they could get without actually touching. Even as drunk as he was, Dan had wondered why they were bothering. Anyone with half a brain who saw them could figure out what was going on. Plausible deniability, maybe.   
  
They'd gone to Dan's room, because Casey's was farther down the hall, and as soon as Dan turned the deadbolt, he'd pulled Casey into another kiss, slow and lingering, savoring the moment. He'd wanted this for such a long time; he wasn't going to wreck it by hurrying. This could be his only chance.   
  
Casey had other plans, though, tugging Dan over to the bed, and it wasn't as though Dan had needed all that much encouragement. He'd followed, getting in a few more heated kisses before he'd sat down on the edge of the bed. He hadn't been doing all that well at just standing upright; he wasn't going to risk standing on one foot to take his shoes off....  
  
....and that was all Dan remembered until he'd woken up a few minutes ago.   
  
Casey yawned then, sitting up and blinking blearily. "Your room?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What the hell did I--"  
  
"Jägermeister," Dan supplied, and Casey groaned.   
  
"Tell me I didn't do anything I'm going to regret."  
  
Dan looked at him, trying to decide if Casey was faking it or if he honestly didn't remember. He thought he was pretty good at reading Casey by now, though, and he didn't seem to be lying. There was nothing but genuine confusion in his eyes, and so Dan forced a grin, feeling sure Casey would attribute anything "off" about his demeanor to a hangover.   
  
"That depends on how you feel about the St. Crispin's Day speech," he said, and did his best to ignore the twisting in the pit of his stomach. At least he remembered, and all things considered-- particularly the things named "Lisa" and "Charlie"--maybe it was better that Casey didn't.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
 **four**  
  
"You deserved that job," Dan said, opening another beer and handing it to Casey. It was a lot easier to say that now than it had been yesterday, when  _Late Night_ had still been a possibility. When Casey going off to work somewhere without him had still been a possibility.   
  
"Yeah." Casey shrugged, tipping his head back and taking a very long drink from his bottle. He'd come over about forty-five minutes ago, looking tired and defeated; he hadn't had to tell Dan that  _Late Night_  had turned him down.   
  
"How'd Lisa take it?" Dan asked, and immediately wished he hadn't. If Lisa had taken it well, Casey wouldn't be slumped on Dan's couch right now. He'd be at home, being comforted by his wife.   
  
Casey shook his head. "She'd told everyone she knew about the job," he said.   
  
"And she's mad at you for not getting it?"  
  
Casey nodded, looking away from Dan. "You can't really blame her for that."  
  
"The hell I can't," Dan said. "You'd have been great, and if the network couldn't see that, they've got their heads up their asses."  
  
"It's not like that," Casey protested, still looking away. Damn Lisa; she'd obviously made Casey feel like he'd let down everyone he knew by not getting that job.   
  
"You mean to tell me you honestly think someone else would have been better than you? And where does Lisa get off blaming you for this?"  
  
Casey set his beer bottle down on a section of the newspaper. Dan almost had to laugh; even miserable, Casey was still subtly hinting that Dan ought to invest in a set of coasters. "Don't blame Lisa," he said.   
  
"Why not?" Dan blamed Lisa for a lot of things, from every day that make-up had a hard time covering the circles under Casey's eyes to every night Dan spent drinking beer and staring out the window. He shouldn't have said anything, of course, but blaming Lisa was natural and inevitable.   
  
"Because she has a right to be mad," Casey said, still quietly.   
  
"She ought to be sympathetic that you didn't get the job," Dan said. He was going too far. Casey would probably be angry at Dan for criticizing his wife like this, but now that he'd started, Dan was finding that he just couldn't stop.   
  
Casey looked away again, and then, after a moment, said, "I got the job."  
  
"She's your wife, and she ought to--" Dan began at the same time.   
  
" _I got the job, Danny_ ," Casey repeated, a little louder, and Dan stopped talking.   
  
"She's mad at you because you got the job?" Not waiting for Casey's reply, he went on, "You got the job and you didn't tell me?" He ignored the voice that reminded him that Casey getting the job meant that Casey was leaving.   
  
"She's mad at me because I didn't take the job." Casey laughed, harsh and bitter and almost like a sob. "She's mad at me because she thinks she knows why I didn't take the job."  
  
"They offered you  _Late Night with Casey McCall_ , and you didn't take it," Dan said slowly, trying to get his mind wrapped around the concept. Casey was staying in Texas instead of doing  _Late Night_. There was no way to look at that and have it make any kind of sense at all. "What, are you crazy or something?"  
  
Casey shrugged. "Maybe."   
  
"Why did you bother going for the job if you didn't want it?"  
  
"Who says I didn't want it?" The laugh again, even stranger and harsher than before. "I wanted it, Danny. I don't know when I've wanted anything as much as I wanted that job."  
  
"And you turned it down, because...." He trailed off. Casey was looking at him with a strange expression, and something awful occurred to him. "Casey, if you turned down that job because of me--" What did Casey think, that Dan would never make it out of Dallas without Casey dragging him? He needed Casey, sure, but not because his career would stall without him. Casey was his best friend. That was how Dan needed him.   
  
Casey shook his head. "No. I mean yes. Not like that, Danny. But when it came right down to it, I couldn't leave."  
  
"Because staying here and pissing your wife off is better than doing  _Late Night_?"   
  
Casey sighed. "I just couldn't imagine going to work and you not being there."  
  
"Tell me you did not say that to Lisa."  
  
Casey winced. "I said that to Lisa."  
  
"I said, tell me you didn't," Dan said. "I can just imagine how much she loved that."  
  
"No, you really can't," Casey said.   
  
"Is she coming to kill me herself, or hiring a hit man?"  
  
"She's moving out."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She's promised to stay in Texas so I can see Charlie, but she says--" Another shrug, and Casey got up, pacing the floor and not looking at Dan. "She says she's not staying married to someone who's in love with someone else."   
  
Dan forced down the flare of almost giddy hope at that, burying it under indignation. "This is what's wrong with the world. You tell someone how close we are, and she automatically assumes that you're in love with me."  
  
Casey shook his head, and Dan braced himself for another round of "Lisa's not really that bad," with a side of, "You're not being fair."  
  
What he got, instead, was Casey saying, very softly, "She got that idea from me telling her that I thought I was in love with you." Then, before Dan could respond, he said, "And we are in  _Texas_ , Danny, she could probably take Charlie and never let me see him again, if she wanted to. She could get me fired, because I don't know about you, but I don't think the network's going to be thrilled if they ever hear about this. But instead, all she's doing is divorcing me, so how about we call off the open season on Lisa for  _five minutes_."  
  
"Whoa. Whoa. Could we back up to the part where you're in love with me?"  
  
Casey stopped pacing and finally looked up at Dan. "Yeah. Look. I'll... I don't know what I can do to fix this, but whatever it is, I'll do it. I'm sorry, Danny, but it's not like I sat down and thought, 'Oh, hey, let's fall in love with Dan.' It just happened."  
  
"Casey. Stop talking." When Casey did, Dan said, "You idiot. You monumental  _idiot_." Casey flinched, and Dan went on, "You should have said something."  
  
And then, when Casey was still just looking at him, obviously searching for the right way to apologize, Dan leaned in and kissed him. "You're still crazy for turning down  _Late Night_ ," he murmured as he pulled away, and Casey gave him a very faint smile.   
  
"Yeah. I know."  
  


* * *

  
  
  
 **five**  
  
"What are you doing here?" Casey asked, not moving out of the way to let Dan into the apartment.  
  
Dan held up one of the bags he was carrying. "I come bearing sandwiches and beer," he intoned solemnly. "Natalie's positive you're in here starving to death."  
  
"I have a kitchen," Casey said.   
  
"Is there food in it?"  
  
There was a moment's hesitation before Casey said, "Define 'food.' There's a couple of ketchup packets."  
  
"Man cannot live on condiments alone," Dan pointed out, and now he didn't wait for Casey to move out of the way; he pushed past him into the apartment. "This is nice," he said, looking around. "Spacious," he added, though what he meant was "empty." The only thing in the living room was a small stack of boxes in one corner of the room.   
  
"The furniture's coming tomorrow," Casey said, and Dan nodded.   
  
"So I guess there's nowhere to set these down."   
  
Casey shrugged. "Kitchen counter," he said, taking a bag from Dan. Dan followed him through to the kitchen, which was every bit as empty as the living room--not only no table, but none of the stuff that most people had on their kitchen counters. Even Dan had a toaster, and he ate out most of the time. Maybe Natalie was right, and Casey was taking the divorce harder than he claimed.   
  
And maybe Natalie ought to be the one here, or Dana, or  _someone_  other than him, because Dan didn't have the faintest idea what he was supposed to say. "You and Lisa make each other miserable," was the wrong thing, he knew. "You should probably eat something," was what he came up with.   
  
Casey gave him a look. "You're lacking one of the two major qualifications for being a Jewish mother."  
  
"I was ordered here," Dan argued. "I'm supposed to make sure you're eating and sleeping, or Natalie has promised some kind of unspecified--but, I'm promised,  _very_ painful--revenge."  
  
"Fine. I'll eat." Casey reached into the bag and pulled out a paper-wrapped sandwich.   
  
"The beer's in the other bag," Dan said helpfully. Casey only shrugged, so while Casey unwrapped the sandwich, Dan got two cans of beer out of the second bag--good thing he hadn't gone for bottles, because his guess that Casey didn't have anything as exotic as a bottle opener was probably right--opened them both, and handed one to Casey.   
  
He got out his own sandwich and sank down to the floor; he might not be able to sit in a chair, but he wasn't going to eat his dinner standing up. Casey stood there for a minute, a turkey sandwich in one hand and a can of beer in the other, looking just a little like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with either of them.   
  
Natalie might have been right about the not-sleeping, too, Dan thought, as Casey finally slid to the floor next to him. He let Casey get partway through his sandwich before he asked any more questions; it might, at least, put Casey in a marginally better mood. "Do you even have a bed yet?" he asked when he judged enough time had passed.   
  
"I bought one," Casey said defensively. "It's just not here yet."  
  
"Why didn't you stay in the hotel until your furniture got here?"  
  
"I was sick of the hotel. I wanted to stay in my own place again."  
  
"And enjoy the lovely blank walls and beige carpet? Never mind, don't even try to answer that; it'll save me the time it'd take to tell you you're insane." He reached in his pocket for his wallet, opened it and took out the spare apartment key he kept behind the photo holder. At the time he usually got home, it could take forever to get the super to come up and let him in if he'd lost his keys, so he'd started making sure he had a spare.  
  
"What's that for?"  
  
"Go. Sleep," Dan said. "You look half-dead."  
  
"I have to be here at eight for the furniture guys."  
  
"So set an alarm clock," he said. "You're back at work tomorrow, too, so you'd better have a decent night's sleep. I'm going to finish my sandwich and then go back to work; you can go to my place and crash in an actual bed until airtime, then watch the show and go back to sleep on the couch."  
  
Casey hesitated, but eventually nodded. "That isn't the worst idea you've ever had."  
  
"No, but you swore you were never going to bring up that weather girl from Fort Worth again."  
  
  


***

  
  
Casey wasn't on the couch when Dan got home, but he heard the  _West Coast Update_  theme music coming from the bedroom. "Okay, Casey," he called, starting down the short hallway, "unless you signed this month's rent check, you get to sleep in the living room."   
  
Casey didn't answer, and when Dan got to the bedroom, he saw why; Casey had fallen asleep with the TV on and the remote still in his hand.   
  
You could tell, Dan thought, that Casey had been married for a long time; even alone and fast asleep, he'd remained on his side of the bed. Dan shrugged; Casey had left him plenty of room, and he was obviously dead to the world. It seemed kind of heartless to wake him up right now.   
  
Dan stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers and turned of the TV set before slipping into bed next to Casey. Still fast asleep, Casey slid closer to him, and Dan found himself with Casey's head resting on his shoulder. Not that he minded.   
  
Not that he minded at all.   
  
And after what seemed like hours lying there listening to Casey breathe, Dan leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Casey's temple. Casey would never know, and Dan--  
  
\--well, this way there was no chance of his  _ever_  running out of things to torture himself with.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
 **six**    
  
The only thing extraordinary about their first kiss was that it had happened at all.   
  
There had been giant blue margaritas. There had been Dana and "Boogie Shoes." There had been a very drunk Natalie coming dangerously close to taking her shirt off in a bar full of strangers. Kim had stopped her, which had led to Natalie asking Jeremy if he'd think it was hot if she kissed Kim, which had led to Jeremy turning a shade of red previously unknown in mortal humans. The rest of them, who'd decided there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of figuring out where things actually stood between Jeremy and Natalie, ignored her, though Dan had privately thought that she ought to just try it and see. At least if he could be there to watch.  
  
Then he'd decided to go home, and there had been the cold night air, and Casey coming out and asking him if they could share a cab, and then, suddenly, there had been Casey's mouth on his, and his fists full of Casey's shirt as Dan pulled him closer, and then they'd bumped noses and both started laughing like complete maniacs.   
  
And then Natalie, who--Dana told them later--had been asked to leave after Kim had been too slow and Natalie had  _actually_  taken her shirt off, stumbled out of the bar and promptly threw up on Casey's shoes. They'd put her in the first cab that stopped, and Dan had gone with her to make sure she got home okay, while Casey had gone back inside to try to clean his shoes off.   
  
Their second kiss, which happened after sleep and coffee and showers and aspirin, went a lot better, and no one threw up--though it was a close call when Dan turned his head a little too fast.   
  
By the third kiss, he thought they'd started to get the hang of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Note that while some of these are obviously the kisses that never happened, there's more than one that could be the "one that did," depending on how happy you want them to be...
> 
> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


End file.
